Monday, December 31, 2007

Who celebrates New Years? Who I ask you? Actually I don't ask you because I have come up with a list. So screw you. (I'd also like to add a giant screw you to the person who gave me this topic. Stop feeling sorry for yourself you piece of metalized crap)

* People who like alcohol

I don't like these people. Don't get me wrong, I will drink when I'm in the company of other drunk people, because otherwise the entire experience is about as fun as being locked in a car with pillheads. Its just not something you aim for when you get out of bed in the morning. Its the people who actually like 'alcohol', meaning, the people who like getting shit-faced on it and nothing else, that bother me.

"Its a legal drug you know! Its my right to get plastered on a Friday! It helps me unwind!"

Indeed it does. It also helps you get hormonal, fuck anything that moves and boy do I mean anything in some cases, it increases your chances of injuring yourself, or committing violent crime, it helps you to make a complete ass of yourself and lose the ability to speak entirely.

You know whats a really nice way to calm down? Smoke a joint every night with a nice half-glass of red wine. That'll calm you the fuck down and maybe you'll even get introspective as the depressant works its magic on your barely used neurons.

Maybe thats just a pipe-dream.

* People who frequent nightclubs

This really gets me, and for no good reason whatsoever. Its harmless fun, and everyone seems to have a good time. But the chavness...oh the chavness! I am one of the most undignified people you will ever meet but dear God people! Decorum isn't just a fancy word. If you want to go to an orgy go to a goddamn orgy.

I should explain. People, in general, are idiots. I'm an idiot, but at least (I hope) I can hold an interesting conversation, and this is where 98% of people fall on their faces. Due to my hatred of humanity I tend to see people as prey. If you can't mindfuck someone, whats the point of letting them into your pants?

But I digress.

* 30 somethings who gave up their youth and thus seek to relive it, if only for one night a year.

These are the people who use the word 'party' as a verb and think disco is cute. Do I need to say more?

I should probably list some reasons why New Years Eve doesn't suck.

* The police won't bother you, at all

* You can steal from the drunk people

(They drop things, if I happen to find £50 on the floor, who am I to refuse that? Its a gift from the universe dammit)

* Taxi's are readily available

* You can sit and people watch and feel infinitely better about the state of your own sorry-ass life

I am so desperate to keep doing this in order to stay away and amuse myself I've started asking people to suggest topics. Here's the first one I got: Relationships and the Modern Woman, a subject I know virtually jack shit about.

I will say this though, there is something to be said for a lack of choice. 'We are cursed to be free' is the most profound statement I have ever heard. Mostly because it revolutionised my way of thinking, and its true.

If I was in the backwaters of India right now someone would choose my mate for me, probably my mother. With her taste it would be a rather fat, hairy doctor with bad teeth and a slight case of halitosis but a warm smile and a funny personality. Why do I know this? Because my mother keeps telling me she wants me to marry a doctor, and she likes fat, hairy men, the bad tooth part is just a slight on my part because I've never met someone from India who had nice teeth. Their dentistry must be like it is in Britain! But with less NHS fuelled chaos I'm sure.

Of course if my virilently atheist Father had to choose I'd still be going to a convent. At the very least he would send me to some sort of lesbian colony where I could live out my life eating beaver and never have to worry about perverted perverted men. Again, I know this because I've been told.

Sexuality is like the ultamite in chaos. You can pick ANYTHING. As long as you're not harming anyone (please note I say harming, not hurting) then there's nothing you can't do! Like balloons? I only mention that because I like chiding people who like balloons. But I would never stop them loving their rubber. Their choice.

So with 6 billion people in the world, an infinite amount of choice, and armed with the knowledge that everyone is someone's fetish, what do you do?

I'm going to stop typing this now, because I don't feel qualified to go any further. Seriously, what do you do? And why are there 'experts' paid to tell anyone what to do? Unless they've fucked, been intimate with and loved enough people to fill Wembley I really don't see where the 'expert' part comes in.

Patriotism is a funny thing. Actually, its not, its a slightly scary, powerful thing which is cynically manipulated by every government with 2 brain cells to its name in order to push whichever agenda it pleases with minimal resistance.

Contrite phrases are easy, no fun in that.

There seem to be 2 kinds of patriotism in both of 'my' countries, and they both have one of them in common. When English people begin to think how stupid Americans are, please replace the yokel with the shotgun with a football hooligan with a few racist chants up his sleeve and there you have it! Common ground. (Though admittedly the skinhead is less likely to shoot someone they are just as likely to kill. Knife crime anyone?)

Its the second kind that interests me.

Americans are inundated with pro-USA propaganda from the moment they pop out of the womb and into the incredibly expensive hotel the American's call a 'hospital'. Unless you're poor. Regardless, the government's style assures you this is a new country. Video's for school children, a pledge of allegiance, handy catchphrases like: 'In God we trust' and the flags. Oh the flags! If you can go 10 minutes in a populated area in the US of A without seeing the red-white and blue you are obviously looking at your shoes. It's much like the guy who hangs around saying: I'm such a hard-ass. My hard-assness is large enough to rival all other hard-asses in the world. You just know if you socked him one he'd cry and run away.

And this is a little frightening. I have a hard time stomaching anti-American propaganda and I had Propaganda Lite (C). My siblings are actually going through the American school system and I can't see that ending well the next time the 'Commander in Cheif' (c) commits a monumental fuck-up. Heaven forbid anyone mention it to us yanks!

To be a patriotic American therefore you must continue to repeat the lies told to you as a child. You must completely ignore all other countries and their wishes. This isn't done in a mean way, as other countries seem to think. This is about America. Why on earth would you need to know about anywhere else? Or travel there even! Generally, just being an isolationist with an inferiority complex surrounding your nation.

Britain on the other hand has history behind it. And they were smarter with their genocides. They chose people who (to quote something utterly abhorrent I was recently told) weren't really people. Kill a few thousand defenseless Zulu's? They're black! Screw em. America didn't have this priviledge as no one had enslaved the Indians and thus they couldn't rationalize it away with eugenics. Nope, their rational was something along the lines of: I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT! And like a child throwing a tantrum....almost succeeded in destroying an entire 'race' of people? Ok, not a good metaphor but I'm sure you can get the gist.

As Britain has a history it never talks about it gets to retain a certain level of smugness. To be a British patriot you must, at all times, remain British. It sounds like an outdated slogan of its own but 'Stiff Upper Lip' still very much applies. Not just to repressing your emotions mind you! It also involves looking down on everyone who isn't British. Being cynical and sarcastic with a razor sharp wit no matter what the situation. Generally, being an ass who thinks they're better than everyone else.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Spammers are really not trying anymore. Considering that there is now more information on 'me' available than ever before floating around the internet/government offices/whoever has those missing discs' head, they are very impersonal.

Take the one I received yesterday:

Sharon! Check out Goliath in my pants!

This raises a few questions. Firstly, who is Sharon? I'm not Sharon, Sharon has never been a pseudonym of mine so unless my ex-boyfriend's mother has been browsing through porn using my email address (she's Catholic, so this could be true) they've just picked a name out of a hat and hoped that those few people they reach who are called Sharon respond.

But even if my name was Sharon Goliath in my pants? Check out the Goliath, or Look! There's a Goliath. That makes some semblance of sense.

I say that, does anyone really have fantasies about Goliath? It must have been my ex-boyfriend's mother, only Catholics would be repressed enough to have fantasies involving mythical giants.

Assuming this isn't Catholic porn the only other mental image which is going through my head is of the spammers, those mysterious Nigerians huddled around a table saying: No one is falling for the dead uncle story anymore. What can we do? How can this be more effective? I KNOW! THE WEST! THEY LIKE CHRISTIANITY AND PORN! WHY NOT COMBINE THE TWO? Into one sentence for maximum efficiency of course.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

I wanted to post this. Mostly as a big fuck you to my own stupidity but also to say: Hey look humanity! Or maybe show my shame? I don't honestly know what to think about the fact I produced this.

Anyway! This is an email to the man who will henceforth be referred to as Master Material.

To put this in context since talking to you I have gone shopping, I have had a lot of weed and played Tekken all night and now some neighborhood (by which I mean the neighbors up the hill) dogs have come to say hi so I am sitting on a couch in my warm jacket entertaining two Labradors. Its a different world here!

This is what I would do to you, so I'm being honest here, don't run away. Similarly, there is a side of me that loves this. Usually I'd say her name was Elena, but I think I might be gentler with you than she would be. There are innumerable reasons I don't usually do this. For more details see me after class.

When you say something makes you frustrated and I say good that is because it is the ideal. Regardless of whether it makes you angry or not frustration is a better state to be in than any other. A contented person will go with the flow, and you don't want that. A frustrated person will fight, and resist and plead and beg. A frustrated person can be brought to the brink and then pulled at the last moment, and this can go on as long as you like, as long as they're secured properly. A frustrated and desperate person never gets bored.

Where you can feel is another key point. If someone is ticklish you want to avoid touching that area lightly, but if someone is almost numb you can play with that area and mould it until the nerves are screaming out whichever song you wish.

I would tie you to the bedposts, making sure both of us were naked, so that your arms and legs were almost tight together and make sure that you couldn't see. My tongue would move over your collarbone and up your neck, pausing to bite your earlobes and tell you that if you were good I would let you speak, but if you spoke out of turn I would make sure you were gagged as well.

My hands would move down your lower back with my fingers lightly brushing your hips bones. I would then bring down my hips so that you could feel the heat from my core but I would not touch you. My hands would then move up your stomach slowly, touching your chest and teasing you, not quite reaching your nipples while my mouth lowers to tease you with my breath.

I would like your nipples gently, teasing them until stiff and then tweaking them with the tips of my fingers. My stomach would come down and lightly press against your cock, grinding softly and then lifting off. I would give you a quick, sharp bite to keep you alert.

Then my mouth would tease the end of your cock. My tongue would run over the top, tasting and teasing you. And this is where your nerves come into play. On the side I would have a glass of ice-cubes and a candle. I would light the candle and put an ice cube in my mouth, taking your cock in my hand and gently pulling to distract you. The wax would build up and I would let one drop fall on your nipple. As soon as the wax was cool I would make my mouth cover your flesh. My tongue bar would be colder than the rest of my mouth and I would use that to stimulate you further. My hips would rise up and I would press my wetness on to you, showing you that I was ready for you, but that I wouldn't let you inside of me yet.

My mouth would then be right over yours, so close that you could kiss me. I'll ask you what you want, whether you want me. I'll tell you to beg. If you do it well, I will let you taste me, and then I will take you in my mouth, as deep as I can go. If you do it very well I will continue to do this until I can taste your readiness.

If you do it badly, or you don't sound as if you mean it, I will test your idea that the shaft of your cock can't feel by treating it the same as I did your nipples. The ice cube will be on hand but my teeth will scrape off the dried wax and you will be in my mouth, but not all the way. My hands will do most of the work while my tongue teases your tip. Should you make amends, I may take more of you, but that will be at my discretion.

Were you like the other boys I would then usually leave you for 5 minutes. And not in an awkward, sit next to you and do nothing, sense. I would leave the room and have you stay there, completely exposed with no hope of moving or even seeing who is in the room with you, or who could come in at any moment, for 5 minutes. I would close the door so quietly that you couldn't sure I'd done it at all. But you're not quite as attentive, and I wouldn't want you to become unprepared in my absence.

Instead I would stop abruptly, and fumble for a moment repositioning myself, before impaling myself on your cock. My nails would scratch your stomach as I ground into you and then they would move up to play with your nipples. I would tell you to show your appreciation and show me how much you were enjoying yourself and in turn your gasps would make me grind harder and faster.

When I could see you were getting close to orgasm I would sit back and remove your blindfold. I would lift myself up slowly so you could see everything and then lower myself again, tightening my muscles as I did. I would ask you if you wanted to cum. If you said no, I would grind you incredibly slowly until I came, and then stop.

If you said yes (assuming you'd been good) I would remove your harnesses and tell you you could be in control of your own orgasm.

This is probably just my train of logic. Not everyone gets on the same express but dear God surely no one is this hard to unravel, one person has caught on. And it took him....5 years and an entire bottle of absinthe? (Ah that fateful night)

There is a difference between having a dominant personality, or indeed having a need for control, and being a bit insane. I fall in to the latter category and I'm sure this will be evidenced by a host of things as the next month + lack of cigarettes + lack of lithium will inevitably = many many hallucinations and psychotic episodes.

The first two categories can be beautiful things if you find the right partner. In fact the first two categories are the things I am screaming out for in a partner. This is because the third category puts you in an interesting situation. (For the sake of skipping out on SOME logic here, we're just going to assume that everyone has the crazy I have and to hell with it).

A person who has problems with intimacy, who has a psychotic episode when put in charge of a situation, whose particular psychosis means a charming girl called Elena appears, will LOVE being in control. That person will feel a rush comparable to no other and will be very good at what they are doing as long as the person they're controlling doesn't have a problem with their submission. Safety words are not an option when someone who would be turned on by the sight of your blood is in charge.

To be completely hyperbolic Elena is the dark. The dark is a wonderful place to live, but it will either kill you or lead you down the hardest path possible. There is no shame, the are no regrets, there is only the moment. And damn does the moment feel good. Elena moments have included ripping the skin from my legs. How can that feel good you ask? Pain is pleasure, if you do it right.

So trying to avoid the dark really. Although how do you explain that to someone? Oh, I don't want to do this because I will enjoy it too much, we will enter a downwards, co-dependent spiral and then one of us will try to commit suicide. How do you know that will happen? Well, please take a look at anyone I have so much as been on a date with.

Anyway! This person, wants something else. They want someone who can look the beast in the eye and say: Shut the fuck up and lie down like a good girl.

I'm going to shut up now because I'm rather high and its very late and I'm sounding increasingly stupid in my frustrations. But suffice to say goddammit why the hell do men keep asking me to be in charge? This one appears to be Master material as well. I'd love to convince myself it was solely to bring down my barriers but not even I am self-involved enough to think that. Its just....eurgh! So fucking infuriating!

Thursday, December 27, 2007

I am of the opinion that war is like a game of chess. If you want to play your moves should be cold and calculated because if you get too emotional you're going to make mistake or just kill people for the sake of killing people. If you're killing people for the sake of it, you're not on a mission to do anything. You're just a mass murderer. It takes away any dignity you may have had.

Of course that then leads to the question: Is there any dignity in war? No! But for the sake of this post making any logical sense we must say yes.

Ms Bhutto was blown up today. But she wasn't just blown up according to the latest news! Someone came out with an AK47 and hit her with a few bullets first. Because apparently high powered explosives may not get the job done.

Why? Because this was quite obviously a crime of passion. And why on earth would you hate someone that much? I can think of quite a few reasons why the extremists may have hated her but the only one screaming out in my mind at the moment is: Because she was a she.

Feminism is dead. Thats what a lot of people in the west are convinced of. And I would agree with them up to a point. There are quite a few cases where feminism should just be replaced with self-respect. No, you don't have to wear that skimpy outfit, people should focus on your mind. No, you don't need to sleep with that man, just do what you're comfortable with.

On a global scale however, feminism should still be alive and well. A woman leading a middle eastern country was a big deal. If she had led it again, it would have been just as big a deal. Women in Egypt are still being circumcised because they labour under the false impression that not being horribly mutilated will cause them to be promiscuous. The sex/slavery trade is still alive and well.

What is it about women that causes this? And how can a human being hate so much that they would commit such an uncallous murder?

I'm almost convinced that this all leads back to morality. What the hell is it and why do we have it?

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

To be fair, we shouldn't buy in to the paranoia surrounding terrorism. Living a healthy life generally doesn't involve looking over your shoulder constantly looking for the thinnest trace of beard or complete lack of self-respect from those around you (depending on the sex of course). On the Picadilly line you just can't help it though! Imagine spending 2 hours on a packed tube train with lots and lots of suitcases with no one standing anywhere near them and as you are traversing into the outer fringes of London of course you are in there with as many immigrants as you could possibly want! Nothing wrong with that usually, but you're on your way to the airport, you start to get edgy.

They will search your car before you park in Heathrow car park. They will make you go through no less than 5 security check points before you can get to the oh-so-precious duty free shops. But if you'd like to take whatever the hell you want on a packed, metal tube full of venerable human flesh you don't even need a ticket on most stops.

George Carlin was spot on. There is no security in a metal death trap in the sky. So why the hell would they make us wait 3 hours to get on one?

Eventually though I got to home (Missouri, my final destination). I was greeted by my mother throwing up as she was greening out. (Incredibly pleasant). Today she gave me a pink, fluffy jewelry box with a sequin butterfly on for the purposes of 'hiding the seedier items you own' and is currently scowering the back yard for precious metals with the metal detector she received. So far a piece of tinfoil and 2 bottle caps, should be an interesting day!